Into the Wild Wood and Home Again

What a strange day yesterday was.  Good things: my book review was accepted (and it's up online this morning), I found pants that fit at TJMaxx, the weather was lovely, I bought gourmet baked goods from Wolferman's on sale, I slept well... and the former president of the United States was found guilty on all charges. He is now a convicted felon. (He was already guilty in the E. Jean Carroll trial. And he's facing yet more music in Georgia.) This is not political. This is about decency, honesty, integrity, and how we go about our lives in a public sphere. The slimy, seamy, sordid details aside, using money, power, and influence to hoodwink the electorate -- US -- is what was under the microscope. Is this what we, as Americans, have become? Either users or the used? Blindly obedient to scum-sucking power mongers?  I surely hope not. Congress had its chance to dispose of their damaged goods -- twice -- but they did not. We can only assume that they thought he'd go quietly...

Chilly start to the day around here, eh? Well, of course, if you don't live nearby, then you would not necessarily know-- but 39 degrees is brisk. I am glad we have our garden in, but I don't want to see the tomatoes shiver. Next week is predicted to be quite warm --80s every day-- so there we have it. I don't mind a cool start, but it's hard to figure out what to wear. Actually, it's really hard to figure out what to wear. Not just the fluctuating temperatures, but "school professional" clothing and cleaning classrooms just don't jive. So, I manage. I'll well past the days when I used to wear suits and heels.  Wrapping things up, tidying things away-- I tend to get it all done a bit ahead of time, and then I sit and wait to be released from captivity. This year, we who occupy the second floor will be tidying up and not "allowed" back to our classrooms until August (which is fine by me--I don't go in during the summer). There is a con...

Wednesday already? When it's a four-day work week, I get a little disoriented. But I'm grateful, too; the end of the school year is definitely in focus. What's not entirely figured out is what the summer will hold. I have a stack of books that I'm itching to read. G will put up the pool, likely in a couple of weeks (we usually hold off til mid-June). And I don't have a conference to go to in June, either, but I've opted instead to attend the online poetry seminar in August. Meg has booked us rooms at Hampton Beach for the end of July, so there's that to look forward to.  For the last several years, I've had part-time employment through The Frost Place as a docent and then as office assistant and program assistant. That gig ended last fall with their shift in focus and programming. So, a summer of reading, pool-floating, and house cleaning, punctuated by writing? Seems idyllic.  I will be helping with Holly, of course, and that will fill the hours nicely....

Ahhhhh.... the 'net is back. Thus, I have a landline. And a computer. And we can watch Doc McStuffins .  What I/we didn't (get) to do all day: Did not watch the doom and gloom report before coffee this morning Did not scroll for treason online Did not watch students hide behind laptop lids, scrolling for whatever-they-do while we talk about books Did not submit a/ grades, b/ attendance Did not a/ answer emails, b/ write emails, c/ review and discard emails Did not succumb to click bait Did not check for delivery dates for various online orders What I/we did do: Have coffee and peanut butter toast and talk about The Iliad over breakfast Watch the rain fall on the deck, the new doggie, and the grandchild who refused to come in, and who lifted her pretty face and curls to the rain, tongue out and giggling Talked about Dickens, Trench Poets, and final papers with full student attention Talked about Sandra Lim's poem titled "Poem," and a few poems by Marianne Moore Put...

  On a thousand small town New England greens, the old white churches hold their air of sparse, sincere rebellion; frayed flags quilt the graveyards of the Grand Army of the Republic. from Robert Lowell, " For the Union Dead " I started to think this morning about Memorial Day, and all of the soldiers who have given their  lives  --whether all at once, in or from battle, or over the years, slowly wasting and fading  away-- and Lowell's poem kept popping into my brain. So I decided this  morning to  read it again; it's been several years since I really dug into it, and at the  time, I was more focused on the strange images: a little boy's nose smearing across aquarium glass, the dinosaur-like heavy equipment, the ditch with dead Black soldiers.  Today, though, I read it through, and I think I finally get it. The braiding of stories into the poem's narrative creates the sense of loss-- especially the loss of childhood wonder, and the realization tha...

This weekend is usually dedicated to memorializing those who have passed away, specifically the war dead. Most folks expand it to include recollecting their own family members, as well. While some will spend the time in cemeteries decorating graves (it is, after all, historically known as "Decoration Day"), others will be at parades or other forms of remembrance.  And it's also the unofficial start to the summer season, at least here in the United States. Lucky for us, the weather has been, at least so far, cooperating. I'll be putting plants in soil today! We had a beautiful day yesterday for little Piper's baptism, for Meg's family to welcome their new puppy, and in general, for us to slow things down a little. We sat on the deck and watched the birds, commented on the burgeoning fruit on the trees, and enjoyed the warmer weather. So how do I blend the two threads? While I'm busy planting, I'm sure my mind will wander off a bit. Not a day goes by but...

It's a glorious, sunny Saturday! So much to be thankful for, so much to do. It's started out chilly (38 degrees), but will warm up to low 70s-- perfect for everything I want to do today. Today, we celebrate the baptism of a little girl! Meg's best friend since she was 9 years old has asked her to be godmother to her little one, as Meg asked her to be Holly's. The two munchkins will grow up together, and I love to see it all playing out in real time. And I get the added bonus of being able to participate as a reader in the ceremony.  It's also my son-in-law's birthday, and that occasion is another thing to rejoice about. Given the serious and emotionally fraught several months he/we have been through, it's great to say Happy Birthday to him. God is good: little ones being welcomed into the church and loved ones still with us. Amen. And G got the garden boxes all trimmed out nice. I just need to get the plants! He wants to put a little more soil in them, just ...

A much better, much needed sleep and here we are: Friday. And it's a cooler start to the day, which bodes well for a not-completely-swampy day in my classroom. All that is very well, since I'm in the middle of a huge book moving/reorganizing project. About a third of the books are now housed in the other English teacher's classroom (hooray), and I can finally move things around and make some orderly sense of the things left on the shelves and in the cubbies. So many books! I hope I can recruit a kid or two to help. I can't reach the top shelves, and it takes a lot more effort to go up and down a stepladder with books in hand. It's been a good many years since the shelves have had a good deep cleaning, like, eight years maybe? It's time. And it's dusty and hot work. At least it's Friday. I have home chores and groceries to get, but that's the usual routine. We have a baptism to attend on Saturday, it's my SIL's birthday on Saturday as well, an...

Yesterday was a hot and sticky marathon of a day, but it all turned out okay. I hope today is a bit cooler-- the heat got to me a bit, and that's no fun. I went in to work early, had two meetings, taught my classes, mentored seniors prepping for their portfolio defense presentations, had a third meeting, then sat on a panel to score two presentations. I got home about 5:30, and we went out to dinner. The Red Sox swept the Rays in the Trop, so that's good news. All in all, I spent 9 hours in my classroom in which only one window of the three opens, and the fan just stirred the heat around, so going out was nice. But I'm tired. That all said, it's Thursday, the news cycle has not improved on the national or global scale, and I've been wakeful since 3am.  Yay. I think a warm and rainy day would be just fine, thanks. C

A lot has been said, especially of late in the pop-psych circles, about "love language." What is your love language is a question we are asked to consider. For some, it's mushy cards, expensive jewelry, extravagant trips to exotic places, or it's foot rubs, spa treatments, or shopping binges. Well, for me, yesterday, my husband's "love language" was installing our two air conditioners before he left for work. What a welcome surprise and relief!  And isn't that it, exactly? Whatever we do, whether for ourselves or for others, that brings both pleasant moments and relief, is love. Yes, I'd love a trip or a bundle of flowers, but really, those are transitory. A cool house on a really hot/muggy May day did so much to lighten my mood! And I had to go to the dentist for three more fillings (ouchily expensive), so to not have to battle a sweaty house as well was a huge gift. And I slept like I'd been felled by a brick last night-- another gift. When...

 ...and the air is heavy with lilac, liquid, sweet, redolent with spring. It's hard to hold this beauty in my mind and heart when I read the recap of the news. So many lies. Trump is calling for a "unified reich" if he wins. De Santis has outlawed the use of the words or any references to climate change, in a state where they are routinely obliterated by heat and strong storms, epic flooding, etc. And we sit on this powder keg.  Frankly, I don't want to ponder on the very-real and dire consequences of another Trump presidency. I don't want to think about any of that, actually. When I do, I get upset, I don't sleep.  Speaking of sleep, or lack thereof, it's almost time to put the air conditioner in the upstairs window. It was really sticky sleeping last night; the windows were open, but the heat from the day collects and there's no real relief. Today is supposed to be even warmer, and humid. And tomorrow is predicted to be 85 and humid-- yay, I will be ...

Yesterday was just what it needed to be in so many ways. Church was good, and I got to reconnect with a couple of dear friends while there. I served as lector, too, which is something I actually enjoy. When I came home, I got changed into yard work clothing, and went at those weeds in the strawberry bed with relative gusto. The bee yard is adjacent to the berries, but they were too busy elsewhere, so it was peaceful and without incident. I reclaimed the bed, and then took a ten minute break. I've discovered that I actually need a little break between chores, and I can do a lot more if I listen to my body and respect it's rhythms. I puttered about, moved the deck furniture, and fiddled around with some outdoor things. In the meantime, I also made a ham/cheese quiche for lunch. Holly loved the quiche, G did, too, and I sure did. Then, we went on a little field trip to the garden center and bought a few plants for "Holly's Garden," which we've established in a ro...

I always want to get things done quickly, and sometimes I have to force myself to wait. Or at least pace myself. Like gardening; I want the boxes cleared, refilled, and planted. But it's too early to plant around here-- either the seeds drown, or the last cold spell hits. This week, we are supposed to have the last full moon of May, so we'll likely not get a darn thing even started yet.  I want to blink and have the beds weeded. I want to blink and see all of it nice and tidy, all planted, all set. But that's not the way life works, right? We have work to do, it's never-ending, and one must --I must-- learn to appreciate the process. The thing is, I don't like weeding. I don't like the process nearly as much as I like mild maintenance.  When I used to sew my own clothes, I would make a marathon of it. I made my prom dress in two sittings. I hate it when projects take too long; thus, I had/have no patience for knitting, crocheting, painting, etc. When I had to wr...

Last night, in an attempt to avoid the annoyance/heartbreak that watching Boston sports can bring, I flipped through the streaming options on Amazon Prime and settled on The Holdovers (2023). What a good decision that was! It made me laugh at times, but mostly, it made me think long and hard about my teaching practice, why I am a teacher, and what we sometimes forget when we've been behind the desk for so long --in my case, 36 years. In a lot of ways, the movie hit me in the same way that watching Dead Poets Society did when I first saw it, and I think it's important to note that both films focus on what we, as educators, stand to lose when we advocate for, deeply care about, our students. And, to be quite honest, what we stand to lose if we don't. The plot involves a veteran teacher (Paul Giamatti) who is burnt out; his students don't care about ancient civilization, they hate him, he despises them, and the whole teacher-students relationship is broken almost beyond r...

Short note today, as I have a billion things to do in the next hour: We were awoken by the jangling cacophony of a whole flock of crows outside the open window. They were getting louder and louder, so I popped out of bed (at least, I arose as quickly as my stupid arthritic feet allow), just in time to see a rather large, healthy fox in the neighbor's yard, right by their henhouse. It didn't get a hen. Yet. Have a safe day, C

  I've taken to using the side entrance of our home, the one that is beside the trash barrels and that opens directly onto the driveway. Not because I'm lazy or need a shortcut, but because I hate to disturb the birds. We have not taken in the feeders (yeah, I know, and yeah...) because we are enjoying the visitors. Soon, the lilac hedge will be fully in bloom, too-- then, I'll be avoiding bees. It's huge this year: another benefit of a mild winter. The crabapple is blooming immensely. There's really no other word for it; I've never seen such a sight, a full cloud of magenta. It looks puffy and almost imposing--I love it.  I'm pretty sure I'm exhausting all of the adjectives I can think of this morning. This year, the flowering trees and shrubs are putting on a display that defies sour moods. I'm glad. I need the reassurance that the natural world will persist.  Next week, I hope that the garden boxes will be renewed; G is checking on prices for all ...

The weather was glorious yesterday-- 80 degrees! Every single thing is blooming, and the pollen is thick. G's new bees are very busy --the cliche is true-- and the cherry tree was literally shaking and humming. My eyes are itchy, my skin is itchy, my hair itches, but it's high spring. The flowering crabapple tree is about to burst into deep magenta, and the lilacs will not be far behind. Even the dandelions look friendly.  So why do I read the letters to the editor every morning? There's that one guy in Danville, VT who writes every single day, and every single day he is miserable and rude. ugh. Apparently, Littleton is "going to hell" because we can't put on a Memorial Day Parade (volunteers are scarce, people have aged past their ability to parade, etc.), but there's likely a Pride Month event. Now, I don't see it as particularly hellish, just sad, that folks can't walk miles like they used to, in full uniform and so on. There's still going t...

It was a great idea to take a personal day yesterday; the weather was lovely, and I got a ton of things accomplished. It's been a long time since I have felt like I've got my house/ yard in some sort of order. My mental house, well...that's going to continue to be a work in progress, but that, too, got some needed dusting. That all said, it's raining, and it's Tuesday, and I am headed back to work.  In British Lit, we are reading Dickens' Hard Times ; I hope that they see some connections between the social inequities in the novel and in our own times. And in American Lit, we are continuing to work with literature written by historically marginalized people; today, we will (I hope) be talking about Toni Morrison's Recitatif , and (again, I hope) they will be making some valuable connections between what we are reading and some of the issues we are facing in our own time and communities.  Isn't that why we read fiction? It's not always escapism, thoug...

Yesterday was a nice day, and I have my family to thank for it. It was especially nice to be given a little extra "down time"-- I've been busy, my brain has been particularly busy, and a respite day was the best gift I could have been given.  I'm taking today as a personal day from work, too-- again, it's been busy, and I need a breather.  May 12 --yesterday-- has a lot of associations for me that it does not for most of the rest of the world. It's an emotional day, and lately, I have been (finally?) starting to process some of the things that have occurred over the last several years-- three of which fall on May 12th. Six years ago, pretty much unexpectedly, I got a phone call that my mother had died. It was the day before Mother's Day, and I had just had a lovely breakfast out with Meg, and we were shopping at JCPenney-- just a little "Mom and Meg" morning. My sister called-- apparently, my dad could not reach me because I was out and about wit...

Mothers' Day 2024 I have to say, I've felt a little overwhelmed with all the "guilt gift" ads on the television, internet, etc. of late. Mothers' Day is not about gifts. In fact, it's not even about honoring your mom, though that's nice, too. It is much different than that-- and the original intent of the day is far more interesting.  The observance has its roots in peace efforts, beginning in 1868 through the efforts of Ann Jarvis, who wanted to reunite soldiers with their families after the Civil War. Julia Ward Howe (of the Girl Scouts fame) organized a "Mother's Day for Peace," held on June 2, 1872, and this effort continued to be observed in Boston for about ten years before it faded away. Finally, the holiday was made official when On May 10, 1913, the  U.S. House of Representatives  passed a resolution calling on all federal government officials (from the president down) to wear a white carnation the following day in observance of Moth...

  ahhhh--- I built myself a long weekend, and I have a long list of things to do.  Before you go and tell me to stop filling my time with work and to learn how to relax, let me tell you this: I cannot relax when I look outside and see the bramble-mess. I need to putter about in my roses. Today's the day. And I'll be away from both phone and computer, which is a nice change. It is supposed to be sort of warm, and sort of sunny.  I also have a few little this-and-thats needing my attention, but nothing too big. And I have a gift of time to do these things! This weekend marks the next step in Holly-duty: I will have her half-days, not full days, on Saturday and Sunday. So this means no more scurrying about or trying to wedge things in here and there. I can slow down during the week a little, knowing I have some time to let chores spill over to the weekend a little. I think it's a good step toward creating a "normal" schedule for her. And for the rest of us, too! I...

Is it fair to say, I'm pre-tired?  I read a letter to the editor this morning, in which a person in North Danville, VT (where my husband grew up and he still has relatives) declared that the scripture he heard at church this past Sunday inspired him to make a connection that Trump was the New King, the New Messiah. Blasphemy, at the very least-- and scary.  Fear-mongering, lying, treasonous, garbage-slinging people who are fabricating nonsense in order to manipulate those who don't or won't take the time to read and consider, to learn or re-learn how the country is supposed to work... I could go on, but I won't. I just hate to see this slime seeping into our lives every single day. There are some few GOP members who actually push back against this wave of slop, and whose recent rhetoric indicates that maybe, just maybe, some sanity may be found among all the flag-and-hat waving sycophants.  Character matters.  Preparedness, intelligence, foresight, and a sincere desi...

It's been a movie week in my classes. It just happened that way, following the syllabus and adjusting over and over again for testing sessions, field trips, and so on. But I'm not mad about it, not one bit. Kids are stressed about the AP tests (this is our school's first year doing AP things, and the tests are a real eye-opener for the kids). They are continuing to read for homework, but while they are in class, we are watching the films that are part of the curriculum. British Lit kids are watching Jane Eyre (the Timothy Dalton one, which I had to move heaven and earth to find a used copy for-- my other one is VHS and God forbid we have a player left in the building). They are loving it! It is long, to be sure-- this version is the only one that truly follows the text, and it's got 11 installments (it was originally a mini-series). I don't mind at all. The AmLit kids watched Fences this week, and they are truly incensed at the character of Troy Maxon, as portrayed...

I wonder if you are all entirely sick of hearing about spring? I hope not. I'm still shying away from writing my thoughts (outrage) at the level of corruption that is seeping and sliming its way out of the various court cases that are dominating the news cycle. Suffice it to say, it's a real cause for both caution and misery. So, spring! The plum tree is glorious! The pear trees are awash in tiny white blooms! The apple trees are about to burst into pale pink frothiness! (How's that for a series of exclamations?) The grass is unruly, the new bee hive is buzzing (literally), and the daffodils have passed their prime. The azaleas are huge fuchsia pompons in front of my house, cheering on the lilacs that are quickly leafing out. The tiny, tight purple cones of soon-to-be flowers hint at a beautiful display to come.  Birds wing and sing, starting quite early in the morning. I have little house finches that dart and settle, curious and surprisingly loud in their warblings.  So t...

Yesterday, I worked through a series of poems by Claude McKay with my AmLit students; tight, painful sonnets, and other poems that cut through the heart, poems that shine a light on the tragic situation surrounding African-Americans in the 1920s-40s, the time of the Harlem Renaissance. McKay is a tough nut to crack, really: he goes from writing a devastating sonnet about a lynching to the poem "America," in which he states, "I love this cultured hell...."  We talked about how a sonnet, with its standardized rhyme and meter and rules, is sometimes the perfect vessel to hold enormous and painful topics. The form of the traditional sonnet, driven by sonnet logic (situation, discussion, solution, summation) is essayistic, and can present a full argument in a small space. It works.  That said, there's also this little poem by McKay, which always surprises me-- a poet from Jamaica, who lived and worked in Harlem, writes about spring in New Hampshire? Go figure. The su...

I can't seem to have one full night's sleep that is not disturbed or broken by stress dreams. I haven't had this kind of stretch in quite some time, and it's odd; I have no external stressors that are causing this. I wish my brain would just shut up. Alas, it's Monday, and I have to go to work, and then I'll be hanging with Holly 'til her bedtime. Functioning must happen. Coffee. Lots. That said, the fruit trees are popping! The plum tree is a fluffy white presence, reaching just above the golden forsythias. The cherry trees, apples, and pears are about to poof into pale blossoms as well. Yes, the pollen level in my vicinity is ridiculous. But the bees should be pleased-- G got them yesterday, and they should be almost ready to transition to their new home. It was pouring rain yesterday, so they were not that interested in relocating yet. I can't say that I blame them-- it was another long, drenching rain. Like we need it? sigh. Either way, it's kind...

Good morning! Another night's fraught dream (this one just made me very sad), but a glorious dawn chorus of birds at 4 am provided balance. I have a few chores to do today, and G is getting the bees... it's spring, there's much to do, but it's not yet time to do some of it. The news is disturbing, both domestic and international. So much on my mind, so much to do... and yet, it's Sunday. I need to learn and relearn how to slow down, to rest, to be more mindful. I need to find my balance and my calm. It's warmish, and rain is in the forecast yet again.  So, here's a poem I love, and I hope you do, too. C There Will Come Soft Rains Sara Teasdale 1884 – 1933 (War Time) There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground, And swallows circling with their shimmering sound; And frogs in the pools singing at night, And wild plum trees in tremulous white, Robins will wear their feathery fire Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire; And not one will know of the ...